


Blanket Kick

by aurics



Series: Song Drabbles Collection [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Confessions, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Pining, Romance, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4989658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurics/pseuds/aurics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their time living together is almost up, but Arthur isn't quite ready to let go of Alfred just yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blanket Kick

**Author's Note:**

> Based on CNBLUE's Sweet Holiday [here.](https://princessoftea.wordpress.com/2010/06/18/c-n-blue-%E2%80%93-sweet-holiday-lyrics-hangeul-romanization-translation/) Only very loosely though LOL. Title from Bangtan Boys' song of the same name.

Padding over languidly across the wooden floorboards, Arthur places the steaming mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table, right in front of the small fireplace emanating a comfortable warmth. But it’s not the only source of heat in the room.

 

Crouching on the foot of the couch is Alfred, engrossed in a ridiculously large textbook he probably borrowed (stole) from one of his professors. There’s a picture of what looks like a galaxy on the cover, sparkling with a billion gas balls and… well, Arthur doesn’t know. He’s not the scientist between them. Regardless, the book looks thick enough to break Arthur’s back in two and difficult enough to have Alfred The Prodigy tangled up in a web of confusion. The frown stubbornly staking claim on Alfred's face is so adorable Arthur can’t help but pinch his nose as he stoops to the younger man’s eye-level.

 

“Ouch!” Alfred grumbles, annoyed at being kicked out of his trance. His expression lightens, though, when he spies the mug, a gaudy pattern on its exterior. “Is that for me?"

 

Arthur rolls his eyes. “So you get cross with me but not with food?"

 

“‘Course,” Alfred hums, sips on the beverage and smiles a little. “Food doesn’t talk back or lecture me. I’ve been counting — you’ve nagged me exactly twenty-two times on this trip, and it’s only been two days."

 

“Oh, shut it.” Arthur doesn’t mean it, though.

 

If some of his friends had known, they’d probably think it’s peculiar, maybe pathetic even, for Arthur to go on an innocent ski trip that resembles a middle-school outing with his roommate on their last year of college, instead of going out to countless parties and getting drunk beyond belief. Don’t get Arthur wrong, he’s a big fan of alcohol — so much, in fact, that Alfred is actually being strict on Arthur's alcohol consumption on this trip, putting a limit of a few glasses every day before wrestling the bottle out of his grip. But this year — their last year living in the same space together, bickering over unwashed dishes and piling laundry, laughing over campus gossip, competing against each other to see who’d have the best room décor — Arthur wants to relive it all in the space of a mere few days. The happiness, the frustration and at times the fear of having Alfred always around him; and, eventually, the affection.

 

Like a dam, it had filled up slowly over the weeks and months; trickling in drop by drop, so subtly that Arthur couldn’t feel it running across his skin and through his veins at first. One day it all welled up and Arthur had been left with the sudden realisation that he is going to miss Alfred very, very much. And not just because Alfred cooks much better pancakes than he does.

 

“Earth to England,” Alfred drawls, waving a hand in front of Arthur’s face. Arthur feels the edges of his lips quirk up.

 

“Going back to our freshman nicknames, are we?"

 

“Oh yeah. I loved being called the Great United States of America. Everyone fell for it, even the lecturers — they thought it was badass."

 

“That’s a load of crap, I never called you such thing,” Arthur laughs. “You let just ‘America’ slip once or twice, I believe." Quieter, Arthur hesitantly asks, “You remember all those stories we made up?"

 

“Of course. Four years isn’t such a long time, you know Art."

 

The mug is now empty and Alfred has sidled up closer to Arthur on the floor, completely ignoring all the space still left vacant in their ski cabin room. Not that Arthur is complaining. Alfred is much warmer than the fire, anyway. 

 

“I know, but I just thought you might have wanted to forget them,” Arthur shrugs. “I mean, they were a long time ago. They were childish. And embarrassing."

 

Alfred laughs. “My god, you remember that one time we acted out a part of the Revolutionary War while you were drunk? You dressed up in some old uniform you found at the back of your closet, holding this plastic sword-gun type of thing your friend from the Design Tech department made —"

 

“No, _no,_ don’t you even dare. _”_ Arthur groans in objection, but Alfred pays no heed to it.

 

“— and when I started acting with you, you started _sobbing!_ ” Another groan and Alfred laughs, pulling the blanket pooling at his feet up over the both of them. “It was funny but scary at the same time, you know? I had no idea what to do with you. I mean, those tears really came out of nowhere. I couldn’t tell if I said something wrong, something the USA wouldn’t say, or if my acting was so appalling that you cried!"

 

“And this,” Arthur buries his face in his hands, “is exactly why I didn’t want to discuss any _details_."

 

“But they were memories I made with you.” Alfred says sincerely. “Even the ones we made only a few months after we met were memorable. I won’t forget them — I can’t, really, even if I tried."

 

Arthur glances at his friend, conflicted as to how he should feel about this. Alfred doesn’t look like he’s joking, and Arthur desperately hopes he isn’t lest he reacts in an inappropriate manner. It’s a little sad that Arthur’s still so nervous about letting slip his inner thoughts around the boy after knowing him for quite a while now, and having lived in the same quarters for his entire undergraduate life. 

 

“The feeling is mutual."

 

Alfred grins up at him — sometime during their conversation he has made himself home on Arthur’s shoulder, almost nuzzling the side of his face. “It better be."

 

Skinship isn’t strange between them, but there’s something akin to a sparkling firecracker igniting inside Arthur right at that moment. A blazing passion, casting a blur over his vision and making his palms clammy with heat and moisture. He tries not to think about their past antics, the many times Alfred has pulled him out of a slump and the many times Arthur has saved his friend’s ass from metaphorical death. He tries not to think about how, after all this is over, they’ll be continuing their lives along separate paths — Alfred with his degree in Aerospace Engineering and Arthur with his Political Science, tagging them along different roads, hopefully one that leads to success.

 

But Arthur wonders what kind of success that is if Alfred isn’t there, right beside him.

 

The warmth is making them drowsy — this is Arthur’s excuse when he finds himself tipping Alfred’s chin up to pull him forwards and onto his own lips. There’s a lingering smell of hot chocolate in his breath, and Arthur’s lips move slowly as if trying to savour the flavour of Alfred. But a few seconds later Alfred wrestles out of his hold.

 

Arthur tries to keep the disappointment out of his face.

 

Alfred huffs and leans back on the couch, head tipped upwards. “I hate you, Arthur!"

 

Arthur tries to swallow but it’s stuck in his throat like a large golf ball. “I’m sorry,” he ends up choking out.

 

“Yeah. You should.” He scoots closer to Arthur with a deadpan expression on his face. “Because you choose to do _that_ now? On our very last trip before we graduate?"

 

Arthur’s brain short-circuits. He blinks. “I… I don’t follow?"

 

Alfred rolls his eyes. But instead of answering Arthur’s question, he leans forwards with a hand on the back of Arthur’s head, pulling him in with a little force that their lips end up crashing beautifully. There’s a hand caressing Arthur’s cheek and he moans at the realisation that it’s Alfred’s hand on his face, Alfred’s lips moving against his and lightly nipping his bottom on, Alfred’s arm around his waist — that it is _Alfred_. There’s a tongue prodding between his lips, and he opens his mouth, lets Alfred lick the roof of his mouth and along his bottom teeth, making him grip Alfred’s forearm in surprise. He tries to reciprocate, not wanting to lose to Alfred’s ministrations, but Alfred’s mouth is already traveling elsewhere — now finding its way along his jawline and his neck.

 

“Al — Alfred,” Arthur sighs. He yelps when he feels Alfred’s other hand traveling southwards, very close to his bottom, and grabs his wrist. “Al, Why the rush?"

 

Alfred growls. “I’ve been waiting for four years — don’t tell me I’m rushing things."

 

Arthur blushes, turns his head away. “Bullshit. It didn’t happen that quickly."

 

“Hmm… nope. I remember when it happened, and it happened pretty quickly.” It’s evident that Alfred is getting restless, practically vibrating on the spot and jiggling his knees up and down in his cross-legged position. “So, are we cool?"

 

Arthur smiles warmly. “Yes. Yes we are."

 

“Are we going to continue?” 

 

“W-Well, we…” Arthur stammers, surprised by the direct question. “Have three days to do — do nothing but…"

 

“Each other?” Alfred nods, his voice breathy as he crawls closer to Arthur again. “Yeah. Yeah that sounds like something I can live with."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
